I Cannot Speak Your Name
by noothernames
Summary: "You look at me with those dark eyes that see all my sins and immediately forgive me of them. You look through me and see the undeniable truth of my being." Loving Rachel Berry is a religious experience. Faberry.


Okay, the thing about this is that I'm not Christian, my parents are Catholic and I was baptised but I consider myself Atheist. However, I am fascinated with religion. So the references in this are just revolving around what I've learned through reading ecclesiastical texts for classes and my general impression of Christianity. This will not purely involve Christian references, but rather an amalgamation of different references, from Judeo-Christian to Greek Mythology, and I believe I even pulled some stuff from my Witchcraft and studies of the Occult class (it's a legit Religions course at my university, I'm not in a coven). Also, there is sex in this (actually the other references are just a small part of the story). Um so yeah, that's the disclaimer right there and to anyone who was hoping for an update on Fall in Line, I'm working on it, I'm just a little stuck. Anyway, enjoy.

* * *

I cannot speak your name. It has too much power. I fear what may come from invoking it.

So I create new names that ward away that power you hold. I choose names that would make you weak, names so far from your true identity that they are almost ridiculous. They comfort me as I spit them viciously at you. Treasure Trail. RuPaul. Man Hands. Invoking these names works to offset the essence of femininity that surrounds you and affects me so completely.

I speak words to shame you, but only shame myself.

Every day I am forced into your presence I feel myself grow weaker. It takes all my will to resist you, to keep my pride. At meetings we do not speak, or do so sparingly. But then you open your mouth and sing and pull your soul out right in front of me. My own soul answers yours each time, secretly.

I fear that I will fall at your feet one day and weep as my will utterly breaks beneath me. If you told me that even just one song was sung for my benefit I believe that I would break before you. But that is impossible, isn't it? Those songs could never be for me. There are so many others that love you, that believe in you without question.

My soul is full of sins, I am fallen in more ways than one. I still sin against you, still resist you utterly, though you know not why.

And one day this happens. I am so affected by your voice that I lack the ability to move from my seat. I make excuses to those that require it so that they will go on with their day and forget me. And when I am left alone I shake, I cry.

I lose myself to emotion, a luxury I rarely afford myself. I lose myself to the thought of you.

It is the opposite of being cathartic, I feel completely drained and weak afterwards. And then you appear, as though you had been there the entire time. Though you couldn't have been, I saw you leave myself.

Of all the people to find me at my weakest, I had hoped it wouldn't be you.

Your eyes are full of revelation at seeing my reddened face, rivulets of tears still apparent. I still shake and you soften upon seeing it. Then you speak.

"I need you to speak truthfully. I've been waiting for you patiently for what feels like a lifetime. I know what you're feeling. I know _you_. Now I just need you to say it."

You look at me with those dark eyes that see all my sins and immediately forgive me of them. You look through me and see the undeniable truth of my being. You see that I carry your mark, the indelible mark that makes me yours. For so long it has felt like the mark of Cain, for all to see, to follow me as I wander into the depths of the ages. You've stolen into my heart, mind, and identity. For now I can't be anyone other than Quinn, the girl who loves Rachel Berry.

I reply now, but the confession is not poetic as I wanted it to be.

"I love you. I've tried not to, but I can't stop now."

These are just facts, replayed in my mind too many times to count. But you do not care. They are the right words to you.

You approach me and my immobile state becomes an impediment rather than an unchangeable fact. I rise to meet you, upon legs still shaky from the stress of it all. You take my face into your hands and wipe away the evidence of sorrow with delicate fingers. I must look terrible but you look at me as though mesmerized.

"I think I've always known this would happen. I think I was always meant to be for you." You say, a slight quiver in your voice.

I notice you don't say 'for you' and not 'yours', as though your creation was a gift meant especially for me. Maybe, unknowingly, I've marked your body in the same way you've marked my own.

My self-control wavers and in its absence I realize the unbearable distance between our bodies. I make no conscious decisions, but suddenly your body is crushed to mine, hips touching, arms drawn around you, lips meeting and melding together. Your hands go from holding my face to instantly meshing into my hair. You are not surprised by my actions, or the force behind them. You understand my need and you have your own to match it.

Tongues meet sensuously, hands roam, sliding down your form slowly, though making sure to stop at the hips. I can't get enough of you. I am burning up more and more at the exposure to you. But I cannot stop. It is as though you are my catalyst and it's too late to prevent what is going to happen. The inevitable reaction.

I move my mouth to the soft skin of your neck and kiss there, lovingly, lustily. You moan and rub the base of my neck with one hand and I know you're burning up too. There is no distance between our bodies, but you still press against me in need.

Laughter rings out from the hallway and we jerk at the sound. This is the right time, the right feelings, the right desire, but not in any way is it the right place. Separating our bodies slightly, you look at me in question.

"Yes, I know where we can go."

I take you by the hand, into the hallway and past the laughter. I feel you try to take back your hand, for my sake, but I only hold onto it stronger. I don't care about my reputation anymore; I don't crave it like I crave you. Let them say what they will about us. All I know is that if I separate from you right now, I feel I might die.

We go to my car and I drive towards my house. We do not speak. The air is heavy with what we both know will happen, with what we are feeling and will soon experience. Soon we arrive and I park the car jerkily. I slide out of the door and move to open yours. You take my proffered hand and exit the car. You smile and look down at our enlaced fingers. You look up at me through your eyelashes and my heart stops momentarily.

We practically run into the house and once the front door closes I immediately press you up against it and kiss you thoroughly. I don't worry about my mother finding us, she is never home at this hour. As I lift your left leg up I briefly contemplate taking you against the door but I know this is your first time and I want it to be indelible in your memory. It's the first time that I do this with someone I love, so in a way it's my first time too.

You follow me upstairs and into my room. I lock the door and you stand in the middle of the room. You pull your shirt off and toss it to the side and stare at me with those deep brown eyes as though asking what I am waiting for. I swallow down some nerves and join you.

I thought that I would be the one to overtake you and bring you to the heights of human experience, but you surprise me and dominate me instead. The determination in your eyes makes me shiver with utter want and I can't help but give myself over, dropping the vestiges of my resistance as though it was useless to me. Here I am, below you, naked as Eve, and just as vulnerable. You are above me, a vision, no longer the fragile, small-framed girl I am so used to, but a powerful goddess, with the power to smite me in an instant.

Our lips press together insistently, ardently. You are everywhere, kissing my collarbone, then lightly biting my neck before soothing it with your tongue, and then you have your mouth over my nipple, doing wonderful things.

My arousal increases every time you meet those burning eyes with my own. But now those eyes hold a question that is soon clarified by your fingertips trailing down my torso. Trembling with want, I nod my head in consent.

You touch me and I am in awe. I can see into oblivion, I can see into the cosmos. The metamorphoses of this world appear before my very eyes. As you move your hand against me more and more I feel that your utter being is so close to finally being revealed to me. I wonder if the glory of it all would be too much for my body to handle. I may light up, burn up, turn to ashes.

Suddenly I realise that I should not be such a passive recipient of your hard effort even though I feel as though whatever movement I attempt when I'm feeling so amazing would be sloppy and distracted. Licking my lips, I raise a hand to your breast and tentatively knead it. The look of concentration on your face slips for a moment and your eyes flutter, but just as quickly you growl and pin my wrists above my head. The action excites me more than I thought it would and new heat coils in my centre, even though you had to stop your ministrations in order to do it.

For a moment you just stare down upon me, chest heaving and gaze dark. I fidget underneath you, canting my hips uselessly, hoping you will understand. A smile breaks upon your face and you slide those two wonderful fingers teasingly between my breasts, down to my navel, to my pubic mound (here I begin to shudder in anticipation) and then they dip further, to where my wetness pools. And now I am breathing quickly once more because you are doing everything right, as though my body was your own. And it is, every fragment of my being is yours. I've already given myself entirely over to you, to do with as you seek fit.

And now, I can't stop speaking that name I had forbidden myself from saying for so long. I speak it as though I am saying penance.

Rachel.

Rachel.

Rachel. Rachel. Rachel. Rachel. Rachel.

It is as though I am in the city Babel and God has confused the language out of me. I have invented a new tongue, where every word is you.

I feel you in everything. You are in the air I breathe so quickly now, you are in the sheets I grip so desperately. You are the world and I feel as though the depth of my feelings for you could not be expressed through any known language.

Your lips drag on my neck and then your fingers curl once more and I know that this is it. It comes over me in waves of ecstasy. My hips are undulating but you keep moving against me, lengthening my pleasure. When my body finally stops writhing beneath you, you let my wrists free of your one-handed grip. I am so awash in emotion that when you look at me, nervously, as though afraid that I am disappointed, even though you gave me such a mind-blowing orgasm, I nearly weep.

Instead I bring one hand to your hip and another reaching around your back. The nervous look fades and I bridge the gap between us and kiss you roughly. I flip our positions easily, pressing you into the mattress and I can feel the burn of desire on you.

I want you to feel everything I did and more. I want to create a new world of You and I, right here in my bedroom. A world of intimacy, moans, love, taste. I want to worship you utterly, all the good, all the bad, I want it all.

You smile at me coyly, once again looking at me as though asking what I am waiting for. I have no answer to this silent question and so I dive back into you, exploring the terrain of your body with a reverence that could only be called religious.


End file.
